


Springtime in New Jersey

by glasgowgirl92



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Post-War, plotless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasgowgirl92/pseuds/glasgowgirl92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nixon and Winters in bed after the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Springtime in New Jersey

Snow is falling in Bastogne. Huge, soft flakes patter against his uniform and fall stinging into his eyes. Dick looks up, half-blinded.  
‘Going my way?’  


A figure melts through the thicket of black branches: dark hair and a face as pale as the billowing sky. Dick can barely see through the snow, can’t find the line, but he knows that silhouette. The head falls low, shoulders swaying easily. All he can do is follow. He lurches through the trees, hands scraping along rough bark, each snowflake landing with a caustic kiss. Finally he grabs a shadow that moves, that warms against his touch. Perhaps it’s the sudden respite from the cold, or the softness soothing his bloodied hands, but the words well up inside him and spill into the snow:  
‘I love you. I love you.’  


He presses his wind-burnt face into a bared collarbone, icy white yet somehow radiant with heat. The snowflakes melt from his eyes. Dick pulls himself into the embrace, discovering a body that feels so familiar. He remembers landing in Normandy: walking the tracks and forests he’d traced with his hands on a map. He buries his hands now in the folds of a uniform, smooth and downy despite its apparent filthiness, and beneath it the shock of fevered flesh. He gasps, falling further and further into the warmth, a last deep shudder of cold leaving his bones. He knows the scattering of dark stubble that brushes his cheek, knows the smell of smoke and alcohol, knows the shape of the lips now pressed to his ear.  


‘Dick…’  
Snow is falling: white flakes from a white sky. He keeps his eyes closed against the glare, surrounded now by softness, every movement comfortable and lazy and warm. Birds are singing in the shattered branches.  
‘Dick, wake up.’

  


His face is pressed into a feather pillow. The room glows around him: white walls and crisp, white sheets. From the open window, a cool breeze ushers in a lilt of birdsong.  
‘You were dreaming.’ Lew shuffles closer, stealing the edge of Dick’s pillow to rest his head. The tips of their noses touch, and Dick gives a quiet snuffle of laughter. One hand rests on Lew’s side. His fingers brush against the warm lines of Lew's ribcage.  
‘I was in Bastogne.’  
Lew’s eyes, sleepily observing Dick’s bared shoulder, snap upwards. Dick’s chest tightens at that searching look.  
‘It’s alright. You were there.’  


Lew smiles crookedly at this, but the kiss he ghosts across Dick’s bottom lip is tender, concerned. He winds an arm around Dick’s waist and pulls him closer, dragging the covers back up to their necks.  
‘I never go back there.’ He dips his head, words muffled against Dick’s collarbone. His breath sends heat flushing across bare skin. Dick buries his face in the ruffled mess of Lew’s hair, breathing the scent of his dream. Behind closed eyes, he knows, the memories wait for him. He keeps them open.  
‘Good,’ he whispers, and presses his lips to Lew’s scalp. A golden shaft of light slides another inch down the bedroom wall.

Dick rolls onto his back and leans out towards the bedside table to check his watch.  
‘We should get up.’  
‘Hmmph.’  
He knows Lew will doze all morning if he lets him. In fact, Lew takes the opportunity presented by Dick’s bared chest to squirm closer and use him as a pillow.  
‘Nix, it’s almost nine.’  
‘Who gets up when the hour’s still in single figures…’  
Dick tries to slide his legs out onto the floor, only to feel Lew’s ankle hook around his calf. He huffs and struggles half-heartedly.  
‘For Christ’s sake, Dick, it’s Saturday morning, don’t be such a masochist.’  
‘You’re not even asleep!’ He tries to take Lew by surprise, grabbing his arm and flipping him onto his back, but Lew counters lithely and pins Dick to the mattress.  
‘We don’t have to sleep,’ his voice is rough, and the laughter stutters in Dick’s throat. ‘I don’t want to sleep.’ 

Lew dips his head and kisses him, long and slow, hands slipping from Dick’s wrists as he lowers himself back down. As their bodies touch he growls softly into Dick’s open mouth. Dick feels a pulse of response sing through him, making every pore tingle. He presses his lips against Lew’s, tender as a whisper, then pauses. This moment is his favourite, he thinks: this moment of stillness before desire sweeps their bodies into a rolling tide. The gentle brush of Lew’s skin against his own, so impossibly soft and sweet that he thinks he must die, right now, for how could any living thing withstand such pleasure. They call it a ‘little death’, don’t they. Perhaps this is what they mean.  


‘I love you. I love you.’  
The words from his dream in Lew’s mouth. He breathes them in, sucking gently on Lew’s bottom lip and smiling as the whisper thins to a hitch in the back of his throat. Not to be bested quite yet, Lew pushes back hard into the kiss and runs his fingers along the underside of Dick’s raised thigh. The sudden, decadent lurch of blood from Dick’s brain to far more interesting places has its desired effect, shooting his coordination briefly to hell. Lew needs no further encouragement to slide his tongue against Dick’s, advancing sinuously into the heat of his mouth. 

Victory may be sweet indeed, but Lew’s is cut short by Dick’s fingers scratching up the length of his spine, causing a moment of delighted paralysis. Dick’s hand glides from the taut smoothness of Lew’s back to his shoulder, pushing him sideways, this time meeting with little resistance. Lew splays out across the mattress, arms spread, breathing shakily from a mouth open and stained red from kissing. Dick kneels above him, sliding a thumb over the crest of his hip-bone and under the waistband of his boxer shorts. Lew lets his head drop back against the pillows and watches him in utter surrender. Dick’s body aches at that look. Making quick work of their underwear, he stoops to place a kiss in the warm valley between Lew’s hip and the top of his thigh. Rewarded by what could unkindly be called a whimper, he progresses slowly upwards, gracing each rib with a soft touch of lips and tongue, letting his breath cool each hot mark to an icy shiver.  


‘Dick…’  
Lew’s voice trembles. His fingers twine with Dick’s hair, pulling softly but insistently, sending a transfixing throb of want thrilling through his body. Dick feels his jaw lock open, hears himself moan: a sound so obscene it shocks him. Lew grabs him by the shoulder now, pulling himself up from the mattress to meet him, trying unsuccessfully to lock his leg around the back of Dick’s thigh. Dick moves upwards and stills Lew’s frantic efforts by grabbing roughly at the side of his face, sliding his thumb across Lew’s bottom lip, his chin, his throat. Lew yields instantly, arching his head back, eyes closed.  


‘Lew…’  
Dick buries his face in the crook of Lew’s neck, lips pressed against his collarbone, resisting the sudden urge to bite down. The secret, terrible urge of all lovers: to print their feelings on another’s flesh and wear it like their own, watch it move at their will. To say: _you are mine, you are mine, you are mine._

Dick can feel Lew’s erection pressing insistently against his thigh. Lew’s hands reach over the base of his spine and down, pushing them together, and oh, he means to be slow and sweet but his hips thrust on impulse and his mind goes dark. Lew’s mouth opens wide and silent, but as Dick grinds down again he lets out a groan that makes the blood tingle in every vein. Slick with sweat now, they stumble eagerly into some kind of rhythm. Lew’s head falls to the side and finds Dick’s still nestled in the hollow of his shoulder. Too distracted to kiss, he tracks his open lips across the smoothness of Dick’s cheek, scratching him with yesterday’s stubble- well, some things never change. 

Through the hum of bliss that builds closer and closer to breaking, Dick feels Lew’s body grow tense and stutter beneath him. Knowing the signs, he reaches between their jutting hips and takes both of them in his hand, working with fast, urgent strokes. Lew looks down and draws one long, shaking breath that freezes in his chest and Dick knows- like he knows the exact spot at the nape of Lew’s neck where a kiss will make him shiver, or the tiny furrow in his brow that means ‘leave me alone’- knows that Lew is coming, that his next breath will bear Dick’s name.  


‘Oh, god- Dick- oh…’  
Lew’s fingers bruise into the skin of his shoulder and Dick squeezes his eyes tight shut, so close, Lew’s voice sending him rolling on a wave of pleasure that draws back only to surge forward stronger. Lew reaches up and runs his tongue along the base of Dick’s throat, then sucks at the flushed skin, unable to resist nipping a little with his teeth.  
‘Huh, fuck-’  
Dick doesn’t recognise his own voice as the wave finally, finally breaks, washing over Lew’s stomach. He is falling, floating like a flake of snow. 

Dick drops against Lew’s body, undulating softly beneath him with every breath. His head feels light. His skin is singing.  
‘You cursed just now.’ Lew’s fingers slide lazily through his hair and Dick juts his chin upwards, but all he can see is the corner of Lew’s smile.  
‘Hmm?’  
‘You cursed, did you hear yourself?’  
Dick’s scalp tingles under Lew’s firm touch. He nuzzles closer. ‘Well, I had to pick up some kind of bad habit from you.’  
Lew’s chest judders as he laughs. ‘We’re lying here naked in the middle of the afternoon like a couple of degenerates, and you think swearing is your bad habit?’ His hand slides absently down Dick’s shoulder, fingertips grazing his ribs. ‘I gotta admit, back at Fort Benning if someone told me that someday I’d get a fuck out of Dick Winters, I wouldn’t have believed them in either sense of the word.’  
‘You’re a real class act, Nix.’  
Lew hums happily, his breath gently stirring Dick’s tousled hair. ‘Sleeping past Reveille, there’s another bad habit. I thought you wanted to get up.’  
Dick lets out a long, clean sigh and feels his pulse begin to slow.  
‘In a minute. Run your fingers through my hair again.’  
‘Yes, sir.’

Beneath the soft rustle of Lew’s hand in his hair, Dick can hear Lew’s heartbeat. The skin of his chest trembles almost imperceptibly with each dull rush of blood. Something hollow and bad squirms in the pit of Dick’s stomach at that sound. He remembers Market Garden: Lew falling to the ground, and the awful lifetime of those few seconds before he moved. Behind his closed eyes, he sees the woods of Bastogne press closer.  


‘I knew, back at Fort Benning,’ he says, mostly to drown out the sound of Lew’s heart. He feels the fingers on his scalp stop moving, then slide to the base of his skull, tipping his head upwards. Lew tilts a little to one side, just looking, giving him the silence he needs, and Dick thinks with utter certainty: _this man knows me._ He takes a breath. ‘I don’t believe in love at first sight. But from the first moment I saw you, I knew… I knew that I could love you. That I would love you. That it was only a matter of time.’  
Lew’s dark eyes are always warm, always soft, but now in the gold light with the dust motes glimmering, Dick thinks that such beauty must surely break the world.  
‘That’s why they call it falling,’ Lew murmurs, touching Dick’s cheek. ‘Falling for someone.’ A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. ‘They call us crazy, don’t they, volunteering to jump out of a perfectly good airplane… I only did it because I was already on the way down.’

A cool breeze stirs through the open window, bringing with it the sound of birdsong. Outside in the sun-dappled grass, a scattering of snowdrops are all that remain of winter. It is springtime in New Jersey.


End file.
